


Fever

by Amaya_Ithilwen



Series: Prompt-War with Yin <3 [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Caring, Fever, M/M, Slight Hurt, Temple of Procreation, canon typical cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaya_Ithilwen/pseuds/Amaya_Ithilwen
Summary: Wash is sick and Tucker realizes that he has a horrible timing with his realizations.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of the prompts I wrote out for Yin - I hope you like it!  
> Enjoy! :)

Tucker had horrible timing when it came to realizations, and especially when it came to realizing things about Wash.

 

For example, he realized that he _probably_ shouldn’t wake Wash up from a nightmare by shaking him when he was lying on the ground with Wash’s knee boring painfully into his lower spine. He’d had his hands turned on his back in an angle to the point where the dark-skinned man felt like his shoulders would pop out of their sockets at any moment and his breath was knocked out of his lungs in a painful way when his body collided with the concrete ground.

 

Another example of this fact was that he only realized that he _really, really_ liked Washington when he was standing in the entry of the cave, heavy boulders crashing down around him whilst he was screaming his throat raw to get Wash to come over and join them in fleeing to security.

 

He also realized how much he _relied_ on Wash to lead them, to decide the right things for him, Caboose, and the Reds, when he was standing in front of his own squadron: kids not much older than freshman or sophomore grade, looking up expectantly at him and waiting for his orders.

 

And for another example? That would be the case right now.

 

Tucker realized that he hadn’t seen Wash ever having so much as a cough in the last few years when he saw the Freelancer _crashing to the ground fucking head first_ without trying to catch himself and Tucker’s HUD simultaneously started to inform Tucker about the unhealthily high temperature that Wash’s body had, along with stats indicating that Wash was in pain. He was trembling heavily.

 

“Holy fuck, Wash!” With two huge steps, the dark-skinned man was over at Wash’s side.

 

He had been running some steps behind Wash during their usual morning run.

 

Funnily enough, they had kept up with the daily drills and leg days when they moved to one of the habitable moons close to Chorus, courtesy of General Kimball.

 

Turning the Freelancer around, he could hear him groan in pain.

 

“Fuck, you’re burning up!” Given the direness of the situation, the teal-armored soldier even forgot about his innuendos.

 

It was just his luck that Caboose was meandering over to them.

 

“Is Agent Washingtub having a sleepover?” he asked in his obnoxiously loud voice, causing both Wash and Tucker to wince.

 

“No, Wash is sick.” Tucker replied in a strained voice, almost bordering on snapping. He only realized just how he was talking when Caboose reeled back. He quickly closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down before continuing, “Why don’t you go over to Donut and have a sleepover with him? Or bake something? I think Wash needs some time for himself.” He explained.

 

Caboose’s posture relaxed.

 

“Ok, I will make Wash cookies so he will feel better soon!” Caboose explained happily before wandering off towards the Red Base.

 

Tucker soon heard Sarge bellow something about the Blues attacking and ordering his men to defend Red Team’s honor.

 

With a sigh, Tucker turned back around to Wash who had just started moving again and was trying to get up.

 

“When did you plan on telling me about you being sick?” Tucker asked with a frosty tone to his voice.

 

“It’s not that bad.” Wash replied in a coarse voice, Tucker realizing that he must have a sore throat.

 

“Yeah, sure, passing out during running laps is ‘ _nothing bad_ ’.” Tucker quoted the last words with a sarcastic voice.

 

Pulling Wash up on his feet while getting up himself, he regarded the Freelancer with a mix of anger and worry.

 

“You belong in bed, and not even in the fun way.” Tucker continued, starting to pull Wash over to their base.

 

Wash obviously decided against saying anything just then. Instead, he was trying to break Tucker’s grip and get free.

 

That was when Tucker realized how weak Wash was. The teal-clad soldier didn’t need to summon much strength to keep him from breaking Tucker’s grip.

 

“Let go of me, it’s nothing.” He muttered again, to which Tucker only scoffed.

 

“Yeah, sure, and tomorrow I am going to return home to Earth. Who are you trying to kid? You belong in bed.” Tucker kept marching on with Wash stumbling behind him, desperately trying to stay on his feet and keep up with Tucker’s stride.

 

When they reached Wash’s room in the base, Tucker let Wash take some steps into the room and effectively blocked the entrance by staying in front of the door.

 

“Strip.” He ordered, shooting a stern glance at Wash when he looked like protesting.

 

In the end, the Freelancer seemed to wise up and didn’t protest Tucker’s orders, instead slowly sitting on his bunk and starting to unclasp the seals of his boots and shin guards. He had to stop for coughing fits or some other sickness-related reason every now and then.

 

While Wash struggled with his shin guards, Tucker slowly slipped out of his helmet, always having a wary eye on Wash in case he tried to bolt only to undoubtedly land on his nose while trying it.

 

When he was sure that Wash wouldn’t try anything funny, the teal-armored soldier shortly left the man to change into his civvies and returned quickly thereafter with a bottle of water.

 

Entering the room, he could see that Wash was pretty much asleep and only half-assedly fumbling with his left armguard, fingers slipping off the clasps more than really getting rid of the armor.

 

With a sigh, Tucker decided to say “Fuck it.” and walked over to the man, starting to strip him out of his armor.

 

While his hands wandered over Wash’s body, unclasping clamps and unscrewing loose bolts, his mind wandered back to the last time they had been so close.

 

Right… Last time had been at the Temple of Procreation, where they were partying hard.

 

It wasn’t as if the pollens had only affected Grif and Simmons, although they were definitely affected the most: latching onto each other like starving men and barely managing to make it into their tent that they had set up for their stay at the temple.

 

In Tucker’s and Wash’s case, it was a slower process. Probably because of Wash’s incredible self-restraint and Tucker having partial-Sangheili DNA from Junior and therefore not being _as_ affected by the pollens as pure human beings were.

 

It was in the middle of the night, when Tucker had gotten up for a piss.

 

The next thing he realized was that he was standing in front of Wash’s tent instead of his when he returned from his toilet break.

 

Deciding to just say “Fuck it,” he silently opened the flap and entered the dark space only to realize that Wash was still awake and observing him silently but attentively. His steely grey eyes glinted in the dark like liquid mercury.

 

Neither of them said a word when Tucker walked up to Wash and sealed his lips over his, being met in the middle of his way down by Wash. Neither of them minded when Tucker got pulled down onto the bed by Wash, the hands of the Freelancer already sneaking around the dark-skinned man’s waist and trapping him on the bed so effectively that Tucker could only leave when Wash would let him.

 

Feeling his cheeks heat up at that specific memory and what had followed thereafter, the teal-clad man put Wash’s chest plate on the pile of other armor.

 

He could see Wash sitting on the edge of his bed, sweat rolling down his face and shivers running up his spine. His head was sunken to his chest and he looked asleep.

 

Tucker couldn’t help but smile at the cute picture he was presenting since it was so rare that Wash let his guard down like that around others, although he was very well aware that Wash was sick and needed his care.

 

Walking over, he sat down beside the Freelancer carefully so as to not startle the man and started to open the button of the protective mesh covering Wash’s neck which would cause the whole under-suit to unknit and open so he could pull it off.

 

That Wash wasn’t even flinching when Tucker touched his neck meant a lot since his neck was a sensitive spot for the Freelancer and even Tucker was not allowed to touch the scars from the implants there without Wash’s consent. He really, really, _really_ needed to be comfortable around someone to allow them to touch his neck which wasn’t even always the case with Tucker. So, the fact that he wasn’t flinching when Tucker touched his neck without his consent was worrying in and of itself.

 

When the mesh finally came loose, he carefully pulled Wash’s hands out of the sleeves until the suit was pushed down to Wash’s waist.

Tucker could feel the sickly high fever that Wash had through his bare hands and bit his lower lip. Seriously, how were they more than friends and he hadn’t realized that Wash was so badly off?

 

The next morning, after the effect of the pollen wasn’t that high anymore, they had talked and decided on trying being together. But they wouldn’t be one of those mushy couples, and would give each other space so that neither of them would feel overrun.

 

Which was why both of them still had their own rooms where either of them could retreat without the other being around him constantly to sort out their thoughts or fume a bit if they got into yet another argument. Just because they were a couple now doesn’t mean that they couldn’t argue and be angry with each other for a while.

 

To be honest, and much to Tucker’s relief, nothing much changed aside from them making it more or less official with Grif muttering something about having “Fucking called it.” before he turned around and stalked off when Tucker retorted something about him needing to make up his own fucking mind about a certain red-haired someone.

 

The chubby man seriously needed to confess to Simmons already and get it over with, instead of the two being all awkward around each other after the happenings at the temple.

 

Grabbing the shirt from under Wash’s pillow, he pulled it over Wash’s head and put it on him. It was around this time that he noticed that Wash was shivering even harder.

 

Better to get him into bed now since his fever seemed to be getting worse without the suit battling his pain and fever.

 

Lying him down on the mattress, Tucker started pulling off the rest of the under-suit and slipped on Wash’s boxers and jogging shorts before covering him with the thin blanket they had to live with on this moon. Usually it was more than enough, but right now it didn’t seem that the blanket was really having any effect on Wash aside from making him shiver all the worse.

 

Throwing the under-suit in the washing basket, the dark-skinned man left the room with a low curse. He got a bowl of water, a washing cloth, and his own blanket before returning to Wash’s room.

 

Spreading out the second blanket over Wash, he could see that he again was shivering even harder, looking horribly cold. His lips appeared dry.

 

Wetting the wash cloth, he put it on Wash’s forehead, leaving the room once again and returning with a warm tea to give to Wash.

 

Shaking Wash carefully, he didn’t get a reaction, “Come on, Wash, wake up. You need to drink something.”

 

He only got a whine and grumble in reply. The younger male’s eyebrows knit together.

 

“Wake up, man.” He shook him harder and now, _finally_ , Wash slowly pried his eyes open.

 

Tucker noticed that Wash’s eyes were horribly glassy and showed how clearly sick Wash was.

 

It took the teal-clad soldier quite a while to get him to drink at least half of the warm tea before he let Wash lie down and sleep again.

 

***

 

Tucker was looking after Wash for the past several hours without really being able to bring the fever down, the clock on the bedside table informing him unnecessarily that it was already morning again.

 

Stifling a yawn, he looked at Wash’s face. He still couldn’t believe that Wash could have mutual feelings for such a horrible fuck-up of a soldier as he was.

 

Tucker had actually suspected that Wash would resent him and just leave him when he was told the story that two of Tucker’s soldiers had died because he had fucked up majorly while trying to get information on Wash’s whereabouts.

 

But the only thing that he was told on the subject was that he should learn something from it, otherwise the deaths of both of those soldiers would have been for nothing.

 

Tucker had gotten angry that day, not understanding why Wash was being so understanding about what had happened and not getting as angry and mad about his fuck-up as Tucker was with himself.

 

He had a hard time accepting that Wash wasn’t being as hard on Tucker as he was on himself.

 

Getting another bowl of water, Tucker pushed the covers over Wash’s legs back to reveal a set of wash clothes wrapped around his calves. Touching them, he realized that they were already ready for changing.

 

Washing the leg compresses out carefully and thoroughly, he again wrapped them around Wash’s calves, hearing a low whimper from the Freelancer still lying unmoving in bed. The cloth on his forehead had already become warm again and Tucker would have to change it when he was done with the leg compresses.

 

Tucker managed to get Wash’s fever to lessen only marginally, but at least it meant that Wash wouldn’t be in imminent danger anymore for the next few hours.

 

He would run with it as far as he could and try to get Wash to recover fully. At the same time, he would rather make the Freelancer stay the fuck in bed two days too long than one too short and get him sick again.

 

Changing the water in the bathroom of the base, he thought about Wash and his fever.

 

Given how high and bad it was, he must have run around with it for quite a while. Oh, he would be in for a good old roasting by Tucker whenever Wash was better again.

 

Returning to his room, he could see that Wash still was lying there as he had left him. The only difference was that Wash was shivering again and looked like he was feeling cold, albeit with the two blankets spread out over him. Wash was also wearing Tucker’s widest hoodie – it looked a bit too small on Wash, but it was helping to warm him and that was what counted.

 

The fever was low enough by now that Tucker could stop with the leg compressions. He also wanted to stop doing them in case he would fall asleep. Nothing was worse for a fever than too cold leg compressions, which could cause another spike in body temperature.

 

With a sigh, Tucker threw the wash cloth in the bowl with water before getting up and stretching his sore limbs.

 

He shortly left the room of his CO, getting a hot water bottle and pushing it against Wash’s chest. The Freelancer immediately curled around the new source of warmth with a contented sigh.

 

Well, he was tired and Wash still felt cold: it looked like there was only one solution.

 

Slowly and carefully so as to not startle the sleeping Freelancer, the younger male crawled into the bed beside Wash and under the covers.

 

He pulled the blond male’s back against his chest. Wash shortly tensed, but relaxed moments later when he seemed to realize that there was no harm coming from the action.

 

Tucker highly doubted that Wash realized who was with him and probably wouldn’t piece it together. The dark-skinned man knew from his own experiences that thinking was rather hard when you were as badly off as Wash was.

 

Given Wash’s iron self-control and his tendency to be merciless with himself, he really must be badly off, Tucker mused, nuzzling his nose into Wash’s neck – again, without Wash flinching.

 

The younger male was already starting to sweat like a pig, but he bit his tongue and didn’t even complain about the hotness in his head.

 

Firstly, Wash was feeling cold and Tucker was tired. This was the easiest way to warm him up and for Tucker to get some sleep and keep tabs on Wash.

 

Secondly, he decided to slip under the covers and not so secretly also cuddle with Wash when he was clearly not feeling great, so he would not do a damn thing like complain now that he was having so much. Sweating a bit wasn’t really that bad, he still could shower the next day and then the problem was already solved.

 

This, however, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t nag Wash about it when he was giving him an earful about him being reckless and not saying anything when he was sick.

 

***

 

The next thing he realized was that Wash was moving.

 

He must have fallen asleep during the morning, but that was what he had wanted to, right? Well, maybe not be _that_ deeply asleep but oh well…

 

“Tucker?” Washington asked, his voice still a bit sleep addled, but he was obviously about to wake up.

 

Said man only hummed, not really wanting to say anything just then and keep on sleeping.

 

The younger male could feel the Freelancer turn around so that they were face to face now.

 

“What are you doing here?” The blond male asked.

 

And he sounded very much awake. Great…

 

“Looking after you since you aren’t able to do that. Obviously.” The teal-clad soldier replied, slowly opening his blue eyes.

 

“I had it covered.” The Freelancer responded, sounding a bit like a petulant child.

“Yeah, sure, landing face first in the dirt means you’ve got it covered.” Tucker informed him, pushing himself up on one arm and staring the blond male down, “You were sick for several days if the information from your HUD and your fever was any indication.” He started, shutting Wash’s reply down with a pointed look, “You collapsed in the middle of the first fucking lap! You were unconscious for most of the last…” With that Tucker checked the clock on Wash’s bedside table. Luckily it had information about the date, “…Almost one day.”

 

Wash looked caught, his ears taking on a reddish tint.

 

“Aside from me having to drag your ass over to your room, look after you all night long, and having to sweat like a pig under these hot as hell covers here, I at least _thought_ you would tell me if something was up with you. That you would _tell me_ if something was up with you or bothering you after the Temple of Procreation, but I seemed to have _thought wrong_ here too.”

 

Tucker didn’t fight the sad glance appearing on his face when he was saying what was bothering the young male the most. That Wash wasn’t letting him in, even after all that had happened between them. That he still was keeping things to himself.

 

Don’t get Tucker wrong, he didn’t want to know everything about Wash right away or ever. But he had thought, had _hoped_ at least, that Wash would tell him at least about something like having a flu or something. That Tucker would know if Wash wasn’t feeling so well.

 

Well, he had thought wrong obviously. Figures.

 

Wash was silent for a long while and just when Tucker was about to get up and leave the room to get showered and retreat to his room, he could hear the Freelancer exhale and lowly answer.

 

The man obviously still had trouble talking given the flu, “I… Yes, you are right, Tucker.”

 

Well, _that_ caught the other man off-guard.

 

“I should have told you about not feeling too well. It’s just that I didn’t want to bother you with something minor. I thought it would go away without getting too bad.”

 

The teal-clad soldier scoffed. “Well, you obviously thought wrong. Ever thought about how it would make me feel to see you collapse outside and be so badly off?”

 

They both weren’t good with discussing their feelings, but anger was probably the feeling that Tucker was most familiar talking about.

 

He could see Wash worry his lower lips with his teeth, “I’m sorry, Tucker, I didn’t look at it that way. I understand that you’re angry.”

 

“I am more worried, you dumbass.” The other man shot back, “I was worried sick when you fell on the ground and I didn’t know what was up with you.”

 

Wash looked horribly guilty and although it was exactly what Tucker had wanted, he felt a bit sorry. He understood that Wash hadn’t wanted to worry him and didn’t say something because of that and not because of any bad will. He just wanted to make sure that Wash got his point too.

 

“I’m sorry, Tucker.” Wash replied again, and the way the Freelancer held Tucker’s gaze…the way he looked at him, spoke volumes to Tucker.

 

The older man was telling Tucker a lot more with his gaze just then than by words.

 

Which was why Tucker decided to let it slide in the end, only muttering, “Just tell me next time if something is bothering you. I don’t care how small it is. I want to know it, okay?”

 

“Okay.” The blond male replied, the reply almost sounding like a relieved exhale.

 

“And now.” Tucker continued, trying to break the emotional moment they just had without making an idiot of himself – that was part of his charm too, damn it!

 

“I am going to take a shower. I recommend you doing that too. You stink.” The dark-skinned man continued, walking over to the door to leave Wash’s room and get some fresh clothes and a shower.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Smartass.” He heard Wash mutter into the pillow.

 

“Buzzkill.” Tucker replied, laughing lowly when he heard Wash snort into the pillow as he left the room for good to get that talked about shower.


End file.
